House of Fuji
by jellinor
Summary: The wins, losses, lets and lives of two Fuji – Fuji Syusuke and Fuji Yuuta – and the love, hate, envy and bonds that keep them together and apart. #10: Best Man. Because Fuji is Fuji, even on a day like this.
1. Josephine

Author's Note: This is my first ever fic about _The Prince of Tennis_, so do try to be kind! Well. The story is set shortly after the events in Episode 36 in the anime, and we're pretending that Yuuta has returned to St. Rudolph after having given in to his older brother's alluring promises of pumpkin curry and raspberry pies (just as it sort of is implied at the end of the episode in question). Hmm, what else? It's written exclusively from Yuuta's point of view, so you'll find it entirely and unashamedly biased. Anyway, please forgive any and all OCCness and I hope it'll be an enjoyable read! (^.^)/

Disclaimer: I don't own _The Prince of Tennis_, nor do I claim any ownership of the Nike brand and its famous slogan.

* * *

**Josephine**

#

Fuji Yuuta slowly unlocked the door to his dorm room (home, sweet home. _not_) and automatically reached for the light switch he knew was located directly in level with his right elbow. Then, when the ugly lamp above his head finally flickered to life, the youngest of the Fuji trio let out a heavy sigh at the sorry sight that unwittingly etched itself onto his poor cornea – and he suddenly felt compelled to turn off the light, slowly back out of the room, call Nee-chan and simply return to the place from where he had just come.

But of course he didn't do any of those things. He couldn't, mainly because he was fully aware of that going back meant going home; to his _real_ home with his _real_ room and _real_ food, but which unfortunately also happened to be Aniki's permanent place of residence.

..._aniki no baka_!

There weren't enough raspberry pies in all of Japan to persuade Yuuta to willingly go back when only spending a weekend under the same roof as that unchanging, impenetrable smile had been bad enough – especially after his team's chilling defeat to _his_ school, which had looked very strong indeed. Aniki certainly hadn't exaggerated when he warned him about the newest addition to the Seigaku bunch. That super-rookie, Echizen-something, even rivalled Aniki not only in skills but in _smugness_, too. But more importantly still, the prodigy newcomer had been the one to end Yuuta's Streak.

Now, Yuuta wasn't the type to blow his own trumped, but even he had to admit that it had been a rather good streak: claiming sixteen consecutive scalps was nothing to be ashamed of, and even when compared to Aniki's unbeaten record, it wasn't all too shabby, really. So everything had been fun and games and victory until Echizen and his annoying ambidexterity just had to come along and ruin it.

Yuuta twitched. Even as he was standing there in his own doorway, calculating his chances of somehow escaping the tiny room in front of him _and_ despite the fact that it had been a very good match, the memories of his defeat to the first-year from Seigaku still stung, dammit!

The twitch was then followed by a sigh to express a second defeat, as he concluded that unless he wanted to room with Mizuki-san (who was bound to be in a perfectly pesky mood after losing) for the night, or Yanagisawa (who had taken a strange liking of calling him _otouto_, which was beyond annoying), there would be no avoiding sleeping on his own if over-crowded room. So he took a brave step forward, only narrowly avoiding stumbling over a heap of old tennis shoes, and shut the door behind him.

Oh, well.

Since neither going home or temporarily bunking up with somebody more orderly was going to happen, he would just have to somehow find a way to safely reclaim the room littered with power wrists and ankle wraps, textbooks, odd socks, scrap pieces of paper, old tennis magazines, opened packets of gum, laundry, the dumbbell set he got for Christmas, a couple of towels that may or may not have been clean, colourful candy bar wrappers, CDs, pens, a few sweaters, empty water bottles, stray tennis balls, paperclips and so on.

In the midst of the chaos that had swallowed his cubbyhole of a dorm room whole, Yuuta also thought that he could distinguish a tennis racquet (in all likelihood it was the lost, broken spare he had meant to take to the shop to be restrung as soon as he found it again) from the general mess over by the foot of his unmade bed, and the discovery spread a faint flow of rose-tinted light over the devastation by his feet. That particular racquet, and how he hadn't been able to bring it to be restrung, had actually been mildly bothersome for a while; even after scouring both the clubhouse and his room (or so he had thought), it had remained mysteriously absent. But upon failing to locate and retrieve his lost possession, Yuuta had taken the only reasonable course of action available to him at the time: he had simply given up the search and eventually forgotten about it altogether.

And with the timing of the disappearance being what it was, this was not only natural but also completely understandable. After all, the long-anticipated Tokyo Prefectural Tournament had been looming ever closer then, and all of his time and effort had been poured into intensive training in preparation for an eventual St. Rudolph-Seigaku showdown on the courts. And compared to the possibility of facing and defeating his annoying tensai of a brother at his own game, a few broken strings were trivial and well worth the sacrifice.

As it turned out, however, he hadn't been able to play against Aniki in an official match this time around, so it seemed only fair that he would be compensated by the magical reappearance of his vanished tennis racquet.

After a series of rather impressive acrobatic feats (enough to make Aniki's friend Kikumaru Eiji-san cry with envy), he was able to get himself and his weekend bag over to his bed.

...well, there was no way that he would do that again, so Yuuta decided that he might as well just dig up his sleeping attire – consisting of a rather unattractive pair of shorts and an old Nike T-shirt with its customary 'Just Do It' printed across the front in bold letters – from the dark depths of his bag, go to sleep and hope the mess around him would somehow tidy itself up during the night.

_Yes, good plan_, he happily congratulated himself. _Good plan._

And it _was_ a decidedly good plan until Yuuta made the fatal mistake of unzipping his bag and absentmindedly rummaging through it without looking.

Suddenly he felt a sharp pain coming from the index finger of his right hand and he withdrew it so quickly that the momentum caused him to jerk back a lot further than he had planned for.

Gravity did the rest.

**THUD**

Now, that would have been all (relatively) good and well and not at all overly dramatic, hadn't it been for the fact that he landed on his geometry textbook, which was stacked on top of his history book, which in turn had been balancing on a hole puncher prior to the fall.

And for what happened next... Well. To make a rather uncomfortable story short, Yuuta let some rather unsavoury language escape from his seemingly perpetually downturned lips, and the furrows on his forehead deepened to a level where he could almost feel his skin tighten at his temples.

Swearing once more for good measure, he picked himself up from the floor, dusting off his battered backside while glaring daggers at the offending pile of books, careful not to injure himself any further. It wouldn't do if his carelessness led to a dip in his performance; not only would Mizuki-san be seriously ticked off, but it would be ultimate proof that he was losing what little ground he had worked so hard to gain in his pursuit of Aniki and the footsteps, which were always echoing faintly ahead of him...

But he had to put that to the side for the moment, as he couldn't allow himself to be distracted from the matter at hand; he could not forget what had caused him to fall off the bed in the first place.

Sitting down on the bed again, Yuuta eyed his bag with outmost suspicion:

_There was something in that bag_... _something_ _bad_.

And being Aniki's little brother, he immediately recognized the feeling of dread originating from his stomach area and all of his finely-tuned senses screamed at him that whatever that 'something' was, it must be Aniki's doing. Yes. There was no question about it, and yet it didn't make any sense.

Why on earth would Aniki put something sharp in his bag?

While he was well aware of the tensai's unusual playfulness and creepy partiality towards the inducement of suffering upon others, Yuuta had always clung to the childish idea that his older sibling would never turn against one of his own. After all, even after his refusal to join the Seigaku tennis team, his befriending of Mizuki-san, his transfer to St. Rudolph and subsequent decision to leave home to be a full-time dormer, they _were_ still family. Surely, Aniki wouldn't have forgotten about that.

_Right?_

But the more Yuuta thought about it, the less certain he felt. Aniki had looked unusually determined in his match against Mizuki-san, hadn't he? A bit _angry_, even? But then he had been just as unusually _cheerful_ once the match was over. Maybe—

Oh, dammit! He didn't know. In fact, he had no clue whatsoever; Aniki was beyond unpredictable, and whatever was going on here, it was utterly bizarre... and just a little bit frightening.

Still, being a brave and rather impatient boy, Yuuta thought that he should just grab the bull by its horns and get it over and done with. Though, this was not to say that he would stand up to whatever the horrors Aniki had in store for him completely unarmed: Yuuta was no genius but he certainly wasn't stupid, and he wanted to live if only so he could finally crush Aniki on a tennis court. So he bent down to pick up his weapon of choice from the floor by his feet – the broken racquet, since it happened to be closest – and after inspecting its bust strings with a critical eye, he decided that it was far from perfect but that it would have to do.

Next, confidently gripping the tennis racquet in his left hand, his right slowly reached out to snatch open and then emptying out the contents of his weekend bag onto his bed in one smooth, sweeping motion.

To be honest, Yuuta hadn't given much real thought to what he might _actually_ find in that bag, but even his absolutely wildest imagination – really, nothing! – could not have prepared him for what met his terrified eyes.

"What the—" he started after a moment of complete and stupefied silence, during which he had lessened his frantic grip around his racquet that had promptly fallen back to the floor. "That... a _cactus_?!"

Why, yes. It was a cactus indeed.

In the midst of various pieces of clothing, toiletries and plenty of displaced soil, there was a medium-sized potted cactus staring back at him accusingly in its absolute, green, prickly glory. Next to it was a piece of paper, and once he had recovered enough of his wits to pick it up, Yuuta recognized the handwriting at an instant.

"Best of luck for the consolation matches!" he read out loud. No way. Aniki hadn't _actually_... "Do your best, Yuuta! I know you can do it!" he continued in total disbelief before reaching the postscript. "P.S. Please take good care of Josephine. She's very particular about her feeding schedule, so I would recommend watering her three times per week."

_...just what the HELL was all this?_

And why on earth would a cactus, which was native to the desert, need so much damn water?

He skimmed through the short message again, even flipping over the paper and scanning the back in search for more clues but finding none, before he dared to shift back his attention to the cactus in question.

Yuuta stared at the green, spiky thing, which seemed to snuggle into his sheets, in contemplative silence while desperately trying to fathom the situation.

'Josephine', was it? Right.

Well. He had always suspected as much but now it was definitely official:

_Crazy_.

Aniki had finally cracked for some reason and had gone all-out, flipping-mad crazy.

There really was no other reason for this development, unless...

_Wait._

A sudden thought hit him with the speed of Hyoutei's ace-server and it almost knocked the metaphorical wind out of him. Aniki _knew_ something strange like this was likely to really freak him out, didn't he? So why—

_Ah_.

#

A lone, much anguished roar suddenly ripped through the quiet hallway of the third floor of St. Rudolph Gakuin's second dormitory,

"**BAKA-BAKA-BAKA-BAKA-BAKA-BAKA NO ANIKI!"**

"Eh? Sounds like Yuuta's back, dane," noted the boy occupying the next-door room to no-one in particular before he put back his yellow headphones over his ears and turned his attention back to the book in front of him. "I wonder if he had a good weekend, dane?"

* * *

End note: Yuuta is being just a tad paranoid and believes that his older brother planted the cactus (sorry, _Josephine_) in his bag as a joke – knowing full well that it would scare the living daylights out of him – when it's actually rather innocent. In fact, Fuji Syusuke just wanted to wish his adorable little brother the best with an admittedly unusual good-luck charm, Josephine the Cactus.


	2. Only Time Could Tell

Author's Note: This little drabble-like piece is based on the St. Rudolph-Seigaku match at a point where Yuuta has just been forced to admit defeat to one Echizen Ryoma. I know that this is really short – though it is a reflection and those can be short, right? – but I think it's nice to try different styles of writing once in a while. Oh well, I hope it turned out okay!

Disclaimer: I definitely do not own _The_ _Prince_ _of_ _Tennis_.

* * *

**Only Time Could Tell**

#

The white-and-brown clad figure, Fuji Syusuke mused quietly to himself from his prime position behind the fence, the one that was walking towards the net to thank his opponent for a good game, was no longer the little boy from his memories; that little boy seemed to have been growing up a lot lately and was beginning to change into something much less definite.

Something that had been apparent to most spectators of the match was just how much Fuji Yuuta had grown as a tennis player. He could hear Inui and Oishi discuss the speed and power of his Super Rising, which even had Echizen troubled for a moment, however brief. Then there was the Twist Spin Shot, of course, but that was a different story altogether – Fuji's eyes narrowed a little as he glanced over at the responsible third-party – and one that he would make sure to settle with that Mizuki Hajime as soon as possible.

But something, which could be obvious only to a brother, was just how much Fuji Yuuta had grown as a _person_. The small smile as he went to congratulate his opponent after the match was genuine, and Fuji had never seen his little brother (who hated to lose so, _so_ much) admit defeat so gracefully before.

Fuji was proud over Yuuta's achievements and happy for him – of course he was! But the realization that his brother had come so far, already reaching the point where he surpassed his old self, made him feel a little strange. Because where had _he_ been when Yuuta underwent the first stages of his gruelling transformation, and what part had _he_ played in it all?

The answers were _nowhere_ and _none_.

And that... saddened him a bit, he supposed, and Fuji could feel how his lips straightened out into a thin line accordingly. He wondered if Yuuta would notice that he no longer was smiling, but the St. Rudolph player was too busy trying to attract the attention of the person who was his friend, mentor and manager.

Ah, but of course. The older sibling could only nod understandingly. After all, that was only natural.

_Yuuta_...

The little brother, who no longer was so little and was on the verge of developing into something fantastic.

But even so, Fuji couldn't help but to wonder if – even after all the hard work and all that progress – it would be enough?

His eyes then returned to their usual slits, and his perpetual smile was back with a vengeance, at the thought of finally being challenged by the only person he was certain that he wished to receive a challenge from.

Well, perhaps, not quite yet.

But again, who knew?

_Only time could tell__._


	3. I Am Yuuta

Author's Note: This one is set shortly after Yuuta transfers to St. Rudolph and Mizuki has yet to fully gauge his pre-existing skills.

Disclaimer: Three one-shots in and I still don't own _The Prince of Tennis_. D'oh!

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**I Am Yuuta**

#

"Hm. Could you do that again."

Mizuki-san's voice is so soft and so low that I can hardly hear it over the howling wind, which has picked up considerable speed since we first got out on the tennis courts almost two and a half hours ago, but it is neither a question nor a polite request: it's an order, and when Mizuki Hajime tells you to do something, you better do it properly the first time.

Rule for Success #1: _Don't ever question Mizuki-san's methods_;

Rule for Success #2: _Just do what he says and do it well_.

I was acquainted with the Rules fairly quickly after properly joining the tennis team, just as I was made aware of my stupid habit of putting too much weight on my back foot when hitting a backhand on the run. No-one had ever noticed that about me before Mizuki-san pointed it out after practise one day. He then upped the stamina and speed exercises on my training menu to absolutely insane levels for a couple of weeks or so, and I lean into all my shots now. My backhand is still my weaker side, but it's no longer an issue like it used to be.

"Yuuta-kun, please pay better attention! I asked you to serve again."

I nod once, preparing the all-important ball toss and my left shoulder groans with effort. I must have fired at least a hundred more into the service boxes on the other side of the net already – the sheer mass of fuzzy yellow littering the other half of the court in front of us confirms as much – and I can't help but to wonder how much longer we'll be out here. It hasn't been particularly long, far from it, but after an hour's worth of overall fitness testing, half an hour of just footwork drills and another hour of basic technique and strategy with Mizuki-san literally breathing down my neck for most of it, I feel positively drained. Besides, a week of bad weather means that it's freezing cold, and if that wasn't bad enough, there's definitely rain in the air and it's already getting pretty dark; the automatic outdoor floodlights switched on about thirty minutes ago, despite that it's only five o'clock in the afternoon.

"Again, please."

I have never been one to complain when the tough gets achy, rainy or cold, but right now I would really appreciate going somewhere warm, comfortable and light, and where the wind isn't trying to freeze my ears right off from the side of my head.

Discreetly, and ever so careful not to attract Mizuki-san's attention and thus earning myself more punishment laps around the courts, I steal a quick glance at our clubhouse. It's barely visible behind the thick hedge to our left, but even in the darkness, which is falling on and around us like a soppy blanket quite quickly now, its white walls are a beacon of warmth and hope for better things.

"And again."

Honestly, what I wouldn't do for a long, hot shower right about now!

I don't like playing tennis in the dark. Never have, never will, as they say. Once, when I was younger, I tried to explain it to Aniki and he listened, intently, in the way that only he could, but even then I knew that he hadn't really understood what I was actually saying. He had been smiling at me, too; that annoying, pointless smile that doesn't even mean anything anymore since he just smiles and smiles at everyone in the exact same way. Then he asked if I wanted to play another match against him, as if that would make everything all better.

That was probably when I realized that Aniki was different in that he just didn't _get_ certain things, not because he didn't want to, but because he couldn't. And why should he, when to him most 'normal' problems aren't actual problems at all.

In a way, I suppose that it isn't his fault he's so damn gifted, but he doesn't even _try_ to understand.

He's untouchable and just so _golden_—

"Again."

I'm not him and I'm not perfect like he is. That's why I hate it when things outside my immediate control change too fast or unexpectedly, if the weather suddenly worsens or when the courts are flooded with artificial light that manage to be both dim and harsh at the same time. Stuff like that throws me off; I just don't feel right anymore and it affects my entire game. I know that these are all things I have to work especially hard at to overcome, and I _do_. But I'm not my brother and it's hard, even with Mizuki-san around to help.

"Again."

Today, the outdoor facilities are deserted, save by the two of us, but even the far courts are covered with tennis balls and it could easily be mistaken as the leftovers from one of our team practises. But it's not. This time, it's just me.

It's been a while since anyone dared to breathe a word about 'the transfer student from Seigaku' or treated me like everyone always treats a newbie, but I still haven't gotten used to the idea of us coming together as a team to play tennis only once or twice per week. Back at Seigaku, all they ever seemed to do was to meet up for practises and the same went for the Sarujima tennis school, but here at St. Rudolph, we seem to focus a lot more on each member individually. And this is an approach that suits me just fine; I've been standing in his shadow for long enough already.

"Again."

_It is my turn now_.

I grip my racquet a little bit tighter than I ought to have and it leads to what would have amounted to a let call had this been a real match. But Mizuki-san doesn't say anything and I don't really mind. I know what I did wrong, I could feel the slight misalignment of my arm and shoulder as I stretched upwards to strike the ball, so I also know that it requires only a minor adjustment for next time, but that's all. Piece of cake.

And that might be the best thing about my coming to St. Rudolph. I've found my own rhythm here, somehow, and my own way of playing tennis.

So you better watch this space, Aniki, because one day I'll take you on and then I'll win for sure! I'll show you and Tezuka-san and everyone else at Seigaku that I'm not just the little brother of the tensai Fuji Syusuke who happens to play a decent game of tennis but not at all to the same level; I'll show all of you, because I know I can. I'll show _everyone_ just who—

"Again."

But the one I have to thank for this new confidence in myself is of course my overseer and private coach for the afternoon, Mizuki-san.

I glance over in his direction and I'm promptly met by a pair of smiling dark eyes under an unruly mop of curly black hair. Mizuki-san is standing a few feet behind me at the baseline, observing my every move with one hand comfortably propped under his chin and the other supporting his elbow; and like this, rooted to the hard-court like an old tree or an especially persisted garden weed, he has been inspecting my serve for the best part of an hour – of which he spent nearly forty-five minutes picking it apart bit by bit, explaining why it wasn't working.

"Again."

And that annoying, know-it-all, matter-of-fact tone he had used when he informed me of the weakness in my serve, which apparently never will be all that great, and how it might be improved (with the right training, of course) to a point where it no longer – what was it he had said? – 'hindered my true potential'.

That really, _really_ pissed me off.

_Bastard_, I wanted to scream in his face, and not for the first time since meeting him either, _what the hell do __**you**__ know?!_

But I didn't, and my serve is now both faster and more accurate than before. The hit even feels better, in spite of the wind that is making any kind of ball toss tricky, and I have to hand it to my senpai: his methods might be sort of strange and unorthodox, but Mizuki-san is definitely his own kind of genius. Over the past few weeks with the other regulars, I've found that there's absolutely nothing on the tennis courts that goes past him unnoticed, and it makes me wonder if there is even one aspect of my game that Mizuki-san hasn't analyzed yet.

"Stop for a moment," he says all of a sudden and I halt mid-swing. "Tell me, who are you?"

"Fuji Yuuta," I mutter, a little bewildered, as I bounce the ball back into my hand. I wonder what might have prompted him to ask such a stupid question – maybe the cold has finally got to him or something, what do I know? – because he knows damn well who I am. After all, Mizuki-san was the one who found me and convinced me to come here in the first place. So he, if anyone, should know.

"Is that so?" he smirks, twirling a lock of his hair around his right index finger. "Fuji Syusuke, you said? Are you sure? Because you don't look like him and you certainly don't play tennis like him either."

I raise my voice, insulted, irritated and just a bit confused. "Mizuki-san, I'm Fuji Yuuta."

I'm not my brother and I did _not_ transfer to St. Rudolph for this.

"Say it louder then." Mizuki-san's eyes are suddenly hard as flint and he, too, has raised his voice to match mine. "Who are you?"

"Fuji Yuuta!" I shout. "I'm Fuji Yuuta!"

"I still can't hear you!"

"I AM YUUTA!" I bellow into the wind, knowing that my lungs are likely to give out forever if I scream any louder.

Then, as I stand there, stupidly and panting like a dog, I feel a couple of light pats on my back.

"Good work, Yuuta-kun."

Mizuki-san then nods to himself, satisfied with something only he knows, and as he passes me on his way to the gate that divides the tennis courts from the outside lawns, he smiles at me over his shoulder. "Your private lesson is over for today, but come back tomorrow; there is a new technique I would like to show you. Oh, and don't forget to pick up the balls before you go. Good evening."


	4. Visual Confirmation

Author's Note: This story contains vague references to Seigaku's gruelling training camp in Episode 108 of the anime and it is told in first person this time, alternating between the brothers' points of view. Enjoy! And please find it in your heart to forgive any and all OCCness (there's plenty of that flying around) and the massive amount of fabrication.

Disclaimer: I don't own _The_ _Prince_ _of_ _Tennis_ and Konomi-sensei doesn't own me.

* * *

**Visual Confirmation**

#

Yuuta doesn't know that I know. In fact, I'm convinced that he doesn't think that anyone knows; I could tell from the predictable place he hid it, since it seriously lacked imagination. Though, I might as well admit it: I knew about it from the very beginning. I knew from the moment he brought it into the house.

I often get the feeling that most people, my own otouto included, unfairly assume that I'm not very observant of the world around me – maybe that is because I smile a lot, I personally can't really tell – when in reality, it couldn't be further away from the truth. In actual fact, I daresay that I'm sharper than most. I don't usually like to blow my own trumpet, but if my opponent on the other side of the net changes his grip even the slightest, if his backswing slows or speeds up by even a second or if his ball toss suddenly is a little bit further to the left or right, I know about it. I'm just good at noticing things, I suppose.

So, really, it was child's play to see that Yuuta was hiding something from me.

And it was even easier to find it.

Unlike a vast majority of my fellow St. Rudolphians, I actually prefer the dorms to my real home. Whenever someone asks why I don't visit my family on the weekends, especially since my house is so close to the school that I don't technically need to live on campus, I usually ask the nosy brat in question to kindly mind his own damn business.

No-one except Mizuki-san would understand my feelings anyway; things at home have become so complicated lately that I'm not entirely sure if _I_ understand what is going on anymore. But the bottom line is that I don't leave St. Rudolph unless I have to, because here I can at least pretend that I'm my own person and not some useless, much less perfect appendix to Aniki the genius who can do no wrong. Going home somehow strips me of that sense of self I've worked so hard to establish for myself, and when I pass through our front doors, time immediately reverse on itself and I become tensai Fuji Syusuke's otouto all over again. Not of that any of this is completely Aniki's fault, I guess. But I still can't help but to resent him for it.

Though, really, what's the use of mulling over things I can do absolutely nothing about?

I pull a clean T-shirt over my head, and I have just started to clear my mind of all thoughts other than winning my upcoming practise matches, when my phone rings and I forget checking the caller ID.

"Hello?" I answer in a deliberately hurried tone, checking my watch impatiently. It's still alright with time, but Mizuki-san is not one to tolerate tardiness. "Who is this?"

"_Yuuta_."

An all too-familiar voice literally gushes over my name, and I can feel my good mood from earlier drop to the floor with the same finality as Tezuka-san's famous drop-shot. "Oh, it's you," I manage to croak. "What do _you_ want?"

"_How are you, Yuuta?_" Aniki sounds perky as usual, obviously having chosen to ignore both my irritability and rudeness; something that also is just as usual. "_You sound well_."

"I'm fine," I reply, guardedly, wondering what the hell Aniki wants this time.

"_I'm glad_."

I cringe inside. This isn't natural; nothing about this feels very natural when even his voice sounds like it is smiling. "If you were going to ask me to come home, don't bother!" I hear myself snap before I can stop myself. "I'm busy so leave me alone!"

"_Saa_..." Aniki is silent for a moment before he says, "_I was just calling to say that I'll be away on a training camp this weekend and I think everyone would appreciate your company while I'm gone. Just give it some thought._"

My brother is a sneaky bastard when he wants to be and also very clever, so he's definitely up to something; probably test-driving some new variant of emotional blackmail. I try to buy some time by muttering something incoherently.

"_Nee-san misses you, you know_," continues the voice on the other end of the line, then a long pause. "_So please think it over. Yuuta._"

But perhaps I overestimated him. Aniki sounds almost timid, and I stay quiet for a few seconds before I grind out a carefully unenthusiastic and definitely non-committing, "Sure."

There's no way that I just made my brother even as much as half a promise, and yet I stand with my phone clutched tightly in my right hand even long after he has hung up.

#

_Well,_ _that certainly went better than expected_, I think to myself as I put down the phone on my desk.

Now that I've set my little plan in motion, I just have to prepare for the weekend training trip that is supposed to be held at some mystery location somewhere out in the woods. It might turn out to be the same place as last year, though I should probably give both Oishi and Ryuuzaki-sensei more credit than that. Especially since some of the items specified on the pack-list feel a little, well, _off_: ten pairs of socks, three-four large towels, jogging shoes _and_ tennis shoes, for only two days of training?

Saa, who knows, this weekend might turn out to be interesting after all.

While it is true that I prefer my dorm life to my family life, I sometimes allow Nee-chan to persuade me to come home on the occasional visit. I normally dread spending those weekends with Aniki in the house, but I do my best at keeping up appearances for Kaa-san and Nee-chan so at least they don't have to know. But when Aniki lets it slip that he'll be away for the entire weekend, I jump at the chance of spending two whole days in my rightful place as the youngest son and therefore also the most deserving of being pampered.

#

Once I've flung my bag on the floor of _my_ room, I plonk down on _my_ bed, uncertain of what to do next. Kaa-san and Nee-chan still haven't come back from the market place – when I called home to announce my plans for the weekend, they promised to cook up a storm – and since Aniki isn't at home either, I'm all alone at the house. As I look around the room, I automatically note the fading posters the cover every inch of the white walls, relics of my younger days when I worshipped left-handed greats like Jimmy Connors, Guillermo Vilas and John McEnroe; the tennis trophies lining the top shelves of my bookcase, though I suppose that Aniki still has more than three times as many; and the colourful Wimbledon calendar sitting on my old desk. Tou-san brought it with him the last time he came back from England, and Aniki and I received one each, with the promise that he would take us both to the actual Championships next year. It was the best present—

Huh. Wait a second.

There is something else on the desk, something strange, and I roll off my bed to investigate.

A large, navy blue notebook and there is a white ribbon tied around it.

Nee-chan – or, God forbid, _Aniki_ – must have put it there for me to find on my own time. Still, I can't help but to wonder why it looks vaguely familiar.

Then I remember. But it can't be...

I quickly untie the ribbon, which falls to the ground in a crumpled heap, but then I stop; I have to admit that I'm just a tiny bit uneasy about what I'll find inside. Not before long my curiosity gets the better of me, however, and I slowly flip it open to the first page.

'Fuji Yuuta' it announces in a neat, even handwriting that I could recognize anywhere, and below the writing there is a small picture of mini-me grinning my head off at the camera. I don't remember when this picture was taken, but judging from my haircut, it must have been well before we moved from Chiba.

Aniki must have found the scrapbook that I bought at a sale a while back. It had been a completely spontaneous, out of character, spur of the moment kind of purchase, and when I came home afterwards, I had rather regretted spending my allowance on something so useless. It was also a pretty girly thing to own, I realized to my horror and embarrassment; and suitably convinced that Aniki would have a good laugh at my expense if he ever found out, I put it away somewhere – I think it might have ended up under my bed, but I'm not sure – and promptly forgot about it altogether.

Honestly, though, for being such a genius, Aniki really is stupid. The baka should know better than wasting precious time and energy on gluing old pictures into some lame book, when he has both tennis and school work to focus on. But then I realize that in order for Aniki to have glued anything into anything, my brother would have had to _find_ it first. And the thought immediately sends chills down my spine: Aniki must have gone through my stuff when I wasn't home.

And God only knows what _else_ he might have dug up while he was at it.

I quickly run through a mental inventory of the rest of my worldly possessions, and to my immense relief I can conclude that I didn't leave anything overly incriminating behind when I moved to the school dorms.

Having succeeded in putting my immediate fears to rest, I look down at the open scrapbook that still rests in my hands. What am I supposed to do about this then? Read it? ...or should I not?

But before I can really think about it any further or subdue my curiosity any longer, I find myself flipping through its colourful pages, and my amazement grows for each page. There are photographs, magazine articles and newspaper clippings; and that is when I realize that they all have one thing in common.

They are all about _me_.

There, I see myself as a toddler, drooling on an oversized, soft practise ball and scurrying after Aniki, who is smiling at the camera and supporting his weight on a miniature tennis racquet. On another page, I seem to have grown a little, because most of it is dominated by a picture of me and Nee-chan in front of my kindergarten; I'm wearing an old cap on my head and my smile looks a little sheepish, as if Nee-chan had just caught me doing something naughty again. The next page bears no pictures at all, but a humorous retelling of the family story about me accidentally dropping the cover of Aniki's first full-sized tennis racquet in the river when I was five; I _can't_ believe he still remembers and still thinks I did it on purpose!

Then the headline of a small newspaper cut-out catches my attention:

[**Five-Year-Old Fuji Yuuta Wins Chiba City U-6 YTC**]

The Chiba City U-6 Youth Tennis Tournament was my first ever win – my first proper title, I guess – and despite that it happened such a long time ago, I can still remember parts of the tournament. It must have been in some sort of round-robin format, because I distinctly remember playing a lot of different people that day, though 'playing' is probably a relative term: we were all roughly five years old, the 'umpires' allowed us two bounces per hit, the nets were only about two feet high and I could barely hit a straight backhand. Needless to say, the competition must have been even worse than I was, because I won my group and proceeded into the quarter-final, semi-final and then the final without any problems. Both Nee-chan and Aniki had been cheering my on the whole time, so energetically that the mother of my opponent in the final had taken it upon herself to glare at them most venomously. I had been so embarrassed then, but once I won, I secretly felt rather happy that they had been there to witness my moment of triumph.

Not that I said anything, though. That would have been even _more_ embarrassing.

Directly after the conclusion of the U-6 final, the courts had been cleared for the U-10s. Aniki had entered, of course, and even back there had it been obvious that my brother would become someone very special. He had still only been six years old then, almost seven, but already he moved with such fluidity and composure to make strangers stop and just watch him play. I had watched, too, envious and a little awed by the ease at which he dismissed opponents nearly twice his age and size and how his face never changed, no matter who he came up against. But perhaps it had always been that way: once Aniki stepped onto a tennis court, he couldn't be properly read and his moves fully predicted by _anyone_.

But I think I remember that tournament especially well because this was the first time that somebody actually tried; when a boy named Saeki Kojirou appeared at the finals court to play against my brother, in a match that turned out to be about as dazzling as could be expected from a couple of six-year-olds. Still, at the time, I had been rather taken in by what I saw, and the other spectators must have been impressed, too, because at end of the match – which my brother eventually won, because he always did – both finalists received standing ovations from the kids and parents who had watched them play.

Saeki-san had whispered something in Aniki's ear when they met at the net for the second time to shake hands, and even though I never found out what was said (and probably never will), theirs was a handshake that sealed one of the strangest friendships I have ever known: between laidback Saeki-san, who went on to become Rokkaku's vice-captain, and Aniki, who became Seigaku's Tensai.

It's strange how things turn out sometimes.

When I skip seven or eight pages of more text and pictures, seemingly fast-forwarding my life by more or less the same number of years, I find a new headline cutting:

[**Local Challenger on the Junior Tennis Circuit: Record 12 Consecutive Wins**]

There is a small blurry picture of me and Mizuki-san, and I still remember most of the short interview after. I never thought that it actually would get printed, even less that Aniki might have noticed the tiny article and saved it. My brother seems to have done some light editing work on his own, though, and at some point, Mizuki-san had both a pair of round glasses and a goatee drawn on his face.

It's rude to laugh at one's elders, so I quickly flip through to the next few pages to distract myself and I am greeted by a number of similar articles:

[**St. Rudolph Gakuin Makes Tokyo's Best Eight List**]

[**St. Rudolph Gakuin Is Ready To Take On the Competition**]

[**Will the 'Southpaw Killer' Lead the Way To the Kantou Regionals?**]

And there are many more photographs of me, my teammates and even Mizuki-san, and I must put down the scrapbook for a moment to collect my thoughts.

I had no idea; I never knew that Aniki followed my progress at St. Rudolph so closely, or that he had come to watch so many of my matches. But then I remember specifically telling my brother to stay well away unless he wanted to play seriously – and whatever guilt I might have felt over my past behaviour towards him evaporates at an instant. Honestly, why am I not surprised? It would be _so_ much like Aniki to show such a complete disregard for any of my wishes!

But as I run my fingers along the remaining pages, I notice that the last five or so sheets of paper feel distinctly different from the rest; whereas the preceding pages are heavy and stiff from photographs and glue, these last few are almost light. And when I impatiently flip to the end of the book, I realize why:

The last six pages are a collage of news articles I have never seen before, but it concerns a past I could never forget, even if I tried.

[**Prodigy Brothers Win U-12 Doubles Title**]

[**Fuji Syusuke and Fuji Yuuta Pair Crush Opposition**]

[**Fuji Brothers to Represent Chiba City in the Prefectural Youth Championships**]

[**Fuji Brothers Pull Out of Tournament Due to Injury**]

And that is when I realize that I made a big mistake when I selfishly declared that this scrapbook was just about me, because it isn't, not at all.

It's about _us_, the Fuji brothers.

And on the very last page there is no writing, just a single photo of Aniki and me. I don't remember the where's and when's, but it must have been taken only very shortly before I left Seigaku for good, because Aniki is wearing his tennis uniform while I am dressed in an ordinary T-shirt and a pair of old tracksuit bottoms. Somehow, Aniki has managed to snake an arm around my shoulder without me noticing, and he looks so ridiculously happy that I almost want him to come back from his camp early just so I can punch him for looking so damn cheery in that picture. I, on the other hand, look as if I'm about to say something rude, though I am nonetheless obediently glaring into the camera lens.

This is a terrible picture of me, an even worse picture of us and Aniki _really_ should have known better than including it at all! I mean, it definitely doesn't look a thing like a sibling photo is supposed to look like. After all, we're brothers, aren't we? We're _supposed_ to have our arms locked around each others' necks, each leaning on the other while laughing into the camera; as far as I know, one of the brothers is _not_ supposed to look like he means to murder the other at first best opportunity.

But then again, my brother chose this picture for a reason; and as I regard it more carefully, I think I begin to understand why he decided to make this particular photo his closing statement, because it shows us for everything we really are:

Yes, we're brothers. Yes, we both play tennis. And, yes, we're both damn good at what we do. But that is where our similarities end, and none of these things make us the same or give anyone the right to compare us to each other. We are Fuji Syusuke and Fuji Yuuta, two separate beings and two separate tennis players loyal to two separate teams and possessing two separate sets of skills and experiences.

I never thought he understood why I transferred to St. Rudolph in the first place, why I was so desperate to get away; Aniki never asked, I never told him and when I left I assumed that maybe he simply didn't care. But now, with everything I have seen so far in this book, I'm starting to wonder if perhaps he understood all along – and if that was why he was so quick to let me go. Kaa-san protested, and even Nee-chan begged me to stay where I was at Seigaku, but my brother had just asked me one evening if this was what I truly wanted and then he did nothing to try to stop me.

So, as mad as I am at Aniki for having rummaged through my things without my permission and butting in where he shouldn't have, I smile. I just can't help it.

I close the book, careful not to fold even the corners of any of its pages, and re-tie the ribbon around its dark blue cover. I'm not going to show this to Kaa-san or Nee-chan, somehow I feel as if Aniki never intended for his work to be shared even with them, and instead I put it straight into my bag. I'll be taking this with me when I leave on Sunday evening; it's far too valuable to leave behind.

"Aniki," I say at last. "You—"

Well.

It's an understatement to say that I'm relieved when the front door suddenly swings open and Nee-chan calls for me to help them with the groceries. But then, our sister always had the strangest knack for timing.

"Syusuke, you look cheerful today." Nee-san's smile is infectious and bright when I walk into the kitchen, dressed and ready for school. "Did you have fun over the weekend?"

"I think we all improved a great deal with the training," I confirm. Then, after a moment I add, almost as an afterthought, "Hyoutei came to have practise matches with us, too, which was very useful."

"Hyoutei?" Nee-san's smile doesn't falter. "Isn't that the team with the rich, narcissistic boy?"

"Uh, yes, I suppose so," I reply, feeling a little bewildered as to how on earth she could possibly have heard about Hyoutei's Atobe 'Snap! Peasant, bow down to Ore-sama' Keigo. Clearly the guy is famous for more than his mere tennis skills, but not so much that _Nee_-_san_ would know about him. "But how—"

"Yuuta may have mentioned a thing or two about 'the competition' at dinner the other day," she explains before she momentarily disappears into the other room.

Oh, but of course. Yuuta would, wouldn't he?

I raise my voice a fraction so she'll still hear me from the kitchen. "That's not why I'm in a good mood, though. I have a new cactus."

"I'll never quite understand your fascination with those plants or how you manage to dig up so many." Nee-san gives my shoulder a quick squeeze, which is probably meant to be sisterly and encouraging but actually ends up being a bit painful due to the last two days' intensive training. "But as long as you're happy, I have no objections."

I just smile at her, because little does Nee-san know that I didn't buy this particular cactus but found it in my room when I came home late last night; it was waiting for me on my desk, a navy blue ribbon tied around its pot which finished in a messy bow. It was a rather sorry-looking cactus, truth to be told, especially when compared to the rest of the family, but I watered the greyish-green plant and placed it on the best spot by the window for a speedy recovery. Sadly, this meant that I had to move Annabelle, and I suspect that it will be a while before she forgives me. But even so, it was worth it.

Then I knocked on Yuuta's door, just to check if he was still at home. Old habits die hard, I guess, because I have since long learnt that he always leaves to go back to his dorm and his friends as soon as humanly possible. Still, I could at least confirm that my scrapbook – his scrapbook – over which I'm actually rather proud, was no longer on his desk. So it seems that he found it, just as I had hoped, and taken it back with him, just as I had wished. Though it would appear as if he had seen it fit to repay me with a new cactus, and I admit that I'm surprised that he left me anything at all. I don't know what to think of that, to be honest: is it a sign? a peace-offering, perhaps? Who knows, I'm not going to push it, and the gesture is much appreciated either way.

I almost laugh out loud, imagining Yuuta tying the ribbon around Rex's pot. 'Rex' is Latin for 'king' and I thought it was a nice name for the malnourished thing to grow into; a little something for it to look forwards to.

"Now you're smiling like that again," Nee-san points out with a glint of mischief in her eye. "Syusuke, if I didn't know any better, I'd think—"

"I just have the feeling that this is going to be a very good day," I cut in before matters get out of hand and Nee-san tries to pump me on information about the girls in my class again.

But when I have informed our sister of my gut-feeling for the day, she just returns my smile and gently shakes her head.


	5. A Different Kind of Thrill

**A Different Kind of Thrill**

#

Exactly two days after our exhilarating win at the Nationals, Yuuta approached me with a short, singular request.

"_Aniki, play me_."

I was stunned. Never before had he asked me to play a serious match against him. It had always been the other way around, and I wondered what could have prompted this abrupt change of heart.

But I told him that I wasn't ready for another opponent. Not yet. My body was still recovering from Rikkai Dai's mighty assault.

Yuuta just looked at me then, really looked at me, nodded and the next day he left for St. Rudolph.

Still, even without him the house as a reminder, I couldn't stop thinking about his unexpected request; something in his eyes refused to leave me mind in peace.

Why had he asked me for that match? And why had I told him no?

I was still aching, both mentally and physically, and I felt as if I had been pulled, pushed and stretched in all directions and to my absolute limits, but I wasn't broken and in need of mending; I had survived and come out on the other side fully intact. I was tired, that much was certain, but I didn't feel as if the Nationals had dulled my senses.

In fact, I felt more alive than ever.

So why then, had I asked my brother to wait? Was it because I truly didn't feel ready?

Or was it because I was afraid that he was not?

As I take up my position at the baseline, I still don't know.

I look over to the opposite half of the court and I'm met by a pair of hard, unflinching brown eyes—and suddenly I see something I've never noticed before: Fuji Yuuta might actually be a rather intimidating opponent.

We are alone at the street courts, just the two of us, but somehow the nondescript setting provides the appropriate scenery for this meeting. This is not meant to be a flashy showdown between Seigaku's genius who has just won the National Tournament and the 'lefty-killer' from St. Rudolph. It's a match between Fuji Syusuke and Fuji Yuuta, what we are here to settle as a family matter if anything, and as such it concerns only family. So it only makes sense that we meet on neutral ground, where schools and even teammates are redundant, unnecessary.

I wonder if he's nervous.

I am.

When I clashed with Rikkai's formidable Niou Masaharu, I challenged a king, fought a demigod and faced my greatest doubt in front of the largest audience I had ever seen – and in the end, _I won_. And yet, here I am, having difficulties with controlling my jittery nerves on an abandoned street court in the middle of the city, facing none other than my own flesh and blood. It shouldn't be this hard.

Why is it so hard?

Maybe it is because when I stepped onto the centre court of the Tokyo Tennis Arena as Seigaku's Singles 2, I never questioned that I would give it my all and more. It was an overwhelming feeling: I wanted to win, I _craved_ victory and I was determined to be the only man standing once the last ball hit the ground.

Today, I sense that same feeling, that same craving, somewhere deep inside of me, but it's very different from before. It's like a hunger that has lost its teeth.

Today it is just a whisper compared to the roar that urged me far beyond what I thought was possible, to surpass not one but three opponents at once, and the indescribable feeling in the pit of my stomach is not the ice-cold determination that gave me the confidence to call forth every single one of my counters.

One by one, I brought them out: my Tsubame Gaeshi, my Higuma Otoshi, my Hakugei, my Kagerou Zutsumi. My Houou Gaeshi, my Kirin Otoshi, my Hakuryu. My Hecatoncherires no Monban.

And it was urging me forward to finally unveil my last, my sixth counter; _my_ _masterpiece_.

It was my Hoshi Hanabi that lit up the stadium before I exploded in a rain of light and heat.

That day, I showed the world my hand, revealed the full range of my arsenal, and I used it to erase my greatest doubt, to defeat a demigod and to topple a king.

And now, after all that, I don't think I can go back. I have passed a point to which I can never return, and still I feel as if it was necessary; why and for what I still don't know, but somehow I believe that it was for the best.

I stop to regard my opponent, my little brother, and I can't help but to wonder if he knows and if he grasps the full seriousness of the situation.

_Yuuta, do you understand what this means? Do you understand that I can destroy you? That I will?_

But do I want to? Do I truly want to destroy him here on the empty courts? Do I want to forever sever the few delicate ties that still bind us together?

_No_, I realize. _I don't_.

I will not sacrifice those last, fragile strings that he has allowed me to keep. I will not. I refuse.

So do I want to win this match?

No, I don't want to win. I will not win. I cannot win.

My eyes fall on the tennis racquet in my hands, and for the first time I feel truly..._lost_.

"Syusuke."

I look up from my thoughts, and I'm astonished to find that Yuuta has walked up to the net to face me; my brother, my adorable little brother, who has never addressed me by my first name before.

"Syusuke," he repeats with authority I didn't know he possessed. "Don't you _dare_ to hold back on me!"

Then, as he turns to make his way back to his own baseline, I finally understand why he asked me to face him in this match. I understand what he is asking me to do.

My brother, my little baby brother who is only one year younger than me and already standing tall on the other side of the net, wants a game free from doubts and regrets; not only for himself but for the both of us.

My brother, my tough little baby brother who never once yielded to the playground bullies and stood his ground against those twice his size, hasn't challenged me for glory, bragging rights or even revenge for all those years in my shadow.

My brother, my cute baby brother and my best friend who I feared I had lost a long time ago, is facing me so he can see everything he is laid bare in front of him.

Yuuta will give it his all in this match to see how far it will take him, and whether he wants to prove himself to me or not feels utterly irrelevant, because we both know that when it ends, it ends.

It's ironic, really, how I am about to be for him what Tezuka once was for me.

Tezuka_, _did you know about the significance of our game? I wonder sometimes, but somehow I think that you did. After all, you must have understood these things long before I did. You never could have reached out to Echizen if you hadn't.

But now the duty has fallen on me to push my little brother beyond his limits so that he, too, realizes that he can surpass them all.

"Prepare yourself, Yuuta."

My whisper is more to myself than to him, and as I'm about to release my disappearing serve, I feel the first wave of sound exploding somewhere deep inside me.

I slowly open my eyes and I will keep them open until one of us wins, and I feel a familiar roar gripping the inside of my spine.

It begins here.

* * *

End Note: When Fuji is talking about the king, the demigod and his greatest fear, he is of course referring to Niou Masaharu (the King of Swindlers, the Trickster of the Court), Tezuka (obviously the demigod) and Shiraishi Kuranosuke (who broke all of Fuji's counters and handed him his first ever official loss).

And when describing Fuji's thoughts and feeling when he faced Niou, I thought that it would make the most sense if I somehow related it to sound. After all, Fuji Syusuke seems rather capable of manipulating the wind.

Disclaimer: I don't own _The Prince of Tennis_.


	6. Mission Improbable

Author's Note: Firstly, I would like to apologize for the long wait. Secondly, I would like to apologize for what might be interpreted as Syusuke-bashing; this is written entirely from Yuuta's POV, so it's obviously completely biased. Anyway, it's just supposed to be a fun, light-hearted piece to get me back into Writing Mode. And as usual, please forgive any and all OCCness, because it's there for comical effect or simply due to the author's ignorance. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own _The_ _Prince_ _of_ _Tennis_.

* * *

**Mission Improbable**

#

"Aniki!" hissed Yuuta for the third time in thrice as many seconds, but failing miserably at catching the older Fuji's fickle attention; whoever came up with the 'third time's the charm!' thing had obviously never met Aniki.

In spite of everything that was horrible and infuriating, and his temper, which was rising steadily like the tension in the locker room before a good tennis match, Yuuta told himself to keep calm and breathe. Obviously he was being seriously wronged here; hot, tired and hungry with thousands of tiny twigs and general undergrowth digging into his body from all sides and at impossible angles, and also half-crouching, half-sprawled on the dirty ground and bending in ways human beings most definitely weren't designed to bend just in order to avoid being further impaled, he was trapped in an utterly _bizarre_ situation – totally against his will and better judgement – by none other than his own flesh and blood. But even so, Yuuta was determined not let any of that adversity get to him. He would be reasonable and go about all this in a level-headed, rational manner, because one of them had to make sure that things didn't get out of hand; and the gods only knew that Aniki sure as hell wasn't going to cut it.

"Oi, I'm talking to you!"

"What is it, Yuuta?" The celebrated genius Fuji Syusuke finally spared his brother a quick, disapproving closed-eyed glance over his shoulder. "And is this what they teach you over at that place? Speaking rudely to your elders?"

A few long moments of total silence and a sharp intake of air later, Yuuta remarked with deceiving calm, "Aniki, this is _stealing_, which is a punishable offence by law."

In the real world, it wouldn't make any sense for an Average Joe like Yuuta to point out something so painfully obvious to a person who had been incessantly referred to as a 'Tensai' ever since the tender age of five. But it was doubly unfortunate that Aniki should occupy some kind of strange, alternative universe where genius completely cancelled out common sense and somehow negated the differences between conventional right and wrong, and that Yuuta had received a too thorough an upbringing to stand aside and watch as the family name was dragged through the dirt by accusations of petty theft and criminal records.

All things considered, it was beyond him how the heck Aniki had managed so well on his own thus far in life.

"I know what stealing is, silly," chided him Fuji lightly, and his smile was as brilliantly vexing as always. "This is definitely not it."

Yuuta bit back the less than flattering retort ready on his tongue, clenched and unclenched his fists, and dispatched a heartfelt prayer to whatever deity might be listening in for strength and a lot more patience. His idiot brother was crouching on the ground right in front of him and well within range, but even idiot brothers were family and Yuuta had been taught at a very early age that it was never acceptable to smack family over the head even if it acted like an idiot. But _by_ _Tennis_, Aniki was not making it easy.

"What then..." asked the younger accusingly, though dreading the answer a little. "What _exactly_ do you call all this?"

As he was waiting for his brother to supply him with something – _anything_ – tangible, a very small part of Yuuta was still hoping that Aniki might snap out of his moment of insanity and say something sensible; like, 'never mind, Yuuta, let's go shopping for that tofu Nee-san sent us out for nearly an hour ago', or even 'never mind, Yuuta, let's go home'. But the determined look that somehow had drifted into his brother's half-lidded eyes was hardly reassuring.

"Obviously, it's a rescue," said Aniki, finally, while nodding happily to himself.

"...a _rescue_?" repeated Yuuta, after a moment of dumbstruck silence. "We're _rescuing_ it now?"

"I thought that was obvious."

Good Lord. Earth to Planet Tensai, come in? Anyone?

"Aniki—" Yuuta launched a last-ditch attempt to talk some sense into his brother "—this is _not_ a rescue mission. _We_ are not rescuing anything; planning to take something that doesn't belong to us is _stealing_."

"But how can you say that?" wailed Aniki, gesturing at something green and distinctly pointy in the not-so far distance. "Just look at it, Yuuta! It's _clearly_ miserable!"

"And I'm not?" muttered Yuuta under his breath. Aniki was more concerned about some stupid plant than he was about his own brother. How typical.

"The poor thing is so malnourished it's a miracle it's still alive!" continued Fuji passionately, and totally undeterred. "Don't you understand? It's our _duty_ to save it!"

Yuuta was convinced that nothing good would come out of this; Aniki was starting to sound more and more deranged, and on top of everything else that was going wrong, Yuuta's left shoulder was beginning to cramp up something terrible from being wedged very awkwardly between a particularly thick bit of bush and Yuuta's own body. Though that was _nothing_ compared to the pain, and laps around campus, Mizuki-san was guaranteed to dish out if Yuuta came back to school on Sunday evening in a worse condition than when he left – and it was a very likely scenario unless he got out of here soon.

"Aniki, this is mad," said Yuuta frankly. "I agreed to go shopping for Kaa-san. I didn't sign up to participate in theft."

"For the last time, Yuuta—" replied Aniki, who even had the nerve to wag a finger playfully in his face. "This isn't stealing. It's a rescue!"

Yuuta made his decision right there and then: family or not, Aniki was a lost case and on his own. "I'm going home. Good luck with your rescue, criminal offence, whatever."

And he had just begun the tedious task of detangling himself from Mother Nature's chokehold when—

"_Yuuta_."

Well, that certainly stopped him mid-motion. Aniki's voice had suddenly acquired a silky, dangerous edge to it, and Yuuta's self-preservation instincts triggered a massive adrenaline overload as everything in his body was preparing to flee the field as quickly as they could. But for some reason, not at all related to the fact that he was still stuck under a bush, Yuuta didn't. He couldn't.

Instead he asked, reluctantly, "...what?"

"I'm not sure you'd want to leave right now."

Yuuta eyed the back of his brother's skull with much suspicion and growing apprehension as he demanded, "Why?"

"No reason," sang Aniki cheerfully, exactly in the way he usually did when he was up to something big and terribly underhanded. "No reason at all."

The youngest Fuji suddenly felt both tired and afraid, but mostly afraid. "What are you talking about?"

"Maybe I was just thinking about Nee-san and what would happen if she ever found out why Matsumoto-san never returned her calls." Fuji paused dramatically. "Nee-san doesn't date a lot, but I think she really liked that one."

Yuuta shuddered at the memory: Matsumoto Daisuke-san, 24 years old, trainee doctor at one of the biggest hospitals in Tokyo, pretentious jerk and total sleazebag; and a straight, satisfying backhand to the back of the head. The guy had been a conceited idiot who never saw it coming but smart enough to give heed to the warning and stop courting their sister, whom he clearly wouldn't ever deserve. Nee-chan had seemed quite taken with him, though, and hadn't dated anyone since—

_Shit_.

"Aniki!" exclaimed Yuuta, deeply horrified. "You _wouldn't_!"

"Of course not," replied Fuji with a smile. "But things happen, mistakes are made. Nobody's perfect, you know."

Except for his brother's knack for blackmail and extortion, thought Yuuta bitterly, before rallying the troops one last time. He was fighting a losing battle, but his pride wouldn't let him wave the white flag just yet. "_You_ didn't like him either, you said so yourself! If—"

"Matsumoto-san deserved what he got. But_ I_ didn't do anything that time." Aniki's smile was gleeful. "It was all you, Yuuta."

"It could easily have been an accident!" protested Yuuta indignantly. But when he noticed that this wasn't working, he tried a different approach, "You should be _thankful_ I was there to stop him!"

He had intercepted the pitiful attempt at wooing Nee-chan by taking her out for a dinner and a movie on one of his infrequent weekend visits home. A rare lucky break, he supposed, and in the end, it had worked out rather well for everyone involved – except for Matsumoto-san, of course. But Yuuta hadn't hit nearly hard enough to make any lasting damage.

"But how the heck do you even know about this? You weren't even home when Matsumoto-san came over!"

Fuji turned around and regarded his furious little brother calmly and condescendingly through fully opened eyes. "I thought you knew by now: I know everything."

Yuuta opened and closed his mouth a few times but no words came out.

"But never mind my methods," continued Fuji. "Not when there's so much more at stake here. We wouldn't want for Nee-san to get _angry_, would we?"

Yuuta gulped. "...it's a rescue, huh," he muttered, utterly defeated. "Right. What can I do to help?"

Fuji, who had closed his eyes, smiled serenely. "I knew you'd see sense eventually."

* * *

End note: Green and pointy, it could only be one thing.


	7. Mirror, Mirror on the Wall

Author's Note: Because bit of change (even if it's OCC) is good for the soul.

Disclaimer: I don't own _The_ _Prince_ _of_ _Tennis_.

* * *

**Mirror, Mirror on the Wall**

#

Fuji Syusuke silently studies the boy in the mirror

The boy should be smiling softly from behind hooded eyelids

The boy should be glowing with health and vitality

The boy should be peeking back at him from under an airy fringe

The boy should be itching to get on with life

_The boy should be happy._

#

_**Fuji? Fuji! Are you even listening?**_

_**Tezuka, is something bothering Fuji? He's winning, but…**_

_**Did you see that? Fuji-senpai made a mistake.**_

#

Fuji Syusuke silently studies the boy in the mirror

A boy stares back at him, blue eyes open wide and so dark that they are almost black

A boy stares back at him, a little bit too thin and little bit too pale

A boy stares back at him, his tousled hair hanging limply around his face

A boy stares back at him, a shadow who is no longer completely one with himself

A boy stares back at him, emptily and disinterestedly.

#

_**Mou, Fujiko! You're always tired nowadays!**_

_**I'm sorry, everyone, but you go ahead. Homework... But, maybe, some other time.**_

_**We haven't seen you around lately. You're not avoiding us, are you, Fuji-senpai?**_

#

Fuji Syusuke silently studies the boy in the mirror

The boy who tried to be a dutiful son

The boy who tried to be a caring brother

The boy who tried to be a valuable friend

The boy who tried his best to be everything to everyone, then lost himself on the way.

#

_**Syusuke? Syusuke! What are you doing?**_

_**I'm not blind. A mother knows when her child is suffering.**_

_**Aniki is acting weirder than usual.**_

#

The boy with hopes

The boy with dreams

The boy with ambitions

The boy with plans

_Where did that boy go?_

#

_**But he's my son! Doctor, please, you must help him!**_

_**Talk to us. You're not alone.**_

_**I'm sorry for making you worry.**_

Fuji Syusuke silently studies the little pink pill in the palm of his hand

_Yes_

_Maybe?_

#

_**Will this make me better?**_

_**Promise me that you won't tell him! Promise!**_

_**It's for the best, it's for the best, it's for the best, it's for the best…**_

#

Fuji Syusuke silently studies the boy in the mirror

Runs a hand through his hair

Straightens the layers of shirts and rehearsed expressions

_Still far from perfect_

_But soon it'll be good enough._

#

"**Syusuke, come down! Yuuta's home!"**

#

Fuji Syusuke silently studies the boy in the mirror before he takes a deep breath and swallows

And waits for the bittersweet aftertaste to slowly disappear, gulp by gulp

Fuji Syusuke silently casts a last glance at the boy in the mirror

The boy who is about to tell yet another lie

Then he smiles.

#


	8. Golden Boy

Author's Note: Another shamelessly and exclusively Yuuta-centric piece (what can I say, I love me some Yuuta!), set directly after the Seigaku-St. Rudolph showdown. Also, please note what probably amounts to the longest run-on sentence/opening paragraph in recorded history.

Disclaimer: I still don't own any rights to _The Prince of Tennis_.

* * *

**Golden Boy**

#

When Aniki suddenly decided to change to his gold racquet, he was already 5-0 down, and even if Yuuta had been too blind to notice the mounting frustration in the Seigaku camp, the excited chanting done by members of his own school would have been enough to convey the simple truth that no-one seriously believed that tensai Fuji Syusuke stood even a snowflake's chance in hell of pulling himself out of the abyss and turn defeat into victory; at only one insignificant game away from a complete whitewash, it had seemed as if even a miracle would be no way near enough to reverse the proceedings or change the outcome of the match, which – up to that point – had been depressingly one-sided.

Honestly, though, that Mizuki Hajime, what a guy... And to whom Yuuta owed so much. Not only had Mizuki-san, St. Rudolph's team manager-cum-drill sergeant, rescued him from the unbearable, stifling life in the shadow of something unattainable, but he had also taught him both Super Rising and the Twist Spin Shot; techniques that had elevated his play to an entirely new level and helped him to carve out a name for himself on the all-Japan junior circuit. But it had to be said, Mizuki-san could be one heck of a scary bastard and up to that point, the entire match had played out _exactly_ as he had predicted; the genius technician from Seigaku, who nobody had ever managed to best on a tennis court, had been getting his racquet handed to him fair and square. Mizuki-san had anticipated Aniki's every move with chilling accuracy, dominating each point and even forcing his opponent to play at his pace from the word go.

And Yuuta had been proud of the fact that Mizuki-san was doing so well, and glad that Aniki finally had met his match. After all, it was about bloody time that someone wiped that annoying, unchanging smile off from Aniki's face and that he, too, got to know what it was like to face failure and humiliation; it was about time that the high and mighty Fuji Syusuke learnt what it was like to be second best.

But at 4-0 and 40-15 down, he had watched the so-called 'prodigy', with who he shared a name, a family and a childhood – but despite all those things, still felt so very distant to – wipe a bead of sweat from his forehead and prepare to return an incoming serve, and part of him had felt relieved that Aniki was looking a little less perfect than usual, even flawed. In a way, at that moment, on that court, losing as badly as he had, his brother had looked almost _human_ again.

Yuuta still wasn't sure just where he ought to pin the blame, but somehow it had also felt strange and rather disappointing to watch him like that; say what you will about it, but Mizuki-san had been winning too quickly, too smoothly and far, _far_ too effortlessly. It shouldn't have been so easy to defeat THE Fuji Syusuke, not even for someone with Mizuki-san's intellect. Yuuta had always imagined that kicking Aniki off his high horse would involve a mega-epic battle, eventually settled by nothing less than an even _more_ epic tiebreak; it _wasn't_ supposed to end like this, no way that it should be so damned _easy_.

In the heat of the moment, Yuuta had even found himself wondering why the hell Aniki, who was supposed to be so fucking fantastic, wasn't putting up more of a fight, why he wasn't doing more, digging deeper, trying harder. The Aniki Yuuta knew (and sort of admired at a distance) would never admit defeat like this, because the Aniki Yuuta knew would _fight_ and pull off a spectacular win at the end.

But at 5-0 and changing sides, when a bagel (1) seemed as good as bagged, Aniki had changed tennis racquets and then, suddenly, the _real_ match began. Absolutely everything about his brother had changed all at once; his tennis had been so efficient that it bordered on cruel, and there had been this weird _feeling_ in the air that the match would now be over very, very quickly. And just as Yuuta thought, after that random racquet change, Aniki had been unstoppable and he didn't lose another point. _Not one._

Yuuta had never seen his brother so ruthless, and he wondered what had brought on the sudden change of mood. It had been blindingly obvious from his stance, footwork and swing that Aniki hadn't been losing and tanking (2), as Yuuta first thought, or even been worn down by Mizuki-san's strategy; instead, the late but effortless transformation made it seem as if Aniki had been losing the previous five games entirely on purpose.

He hadn't even known if he should be annoyed that someone like Mizuki-san had allowed himself to get totally duped, or if he should congratulate his kind-of-brilliant older sibling for the unbelievable turn-around. Somehow, he had felt like doing both when the match finally ended with a 7-5 win to Seigaku's Fuji, though he ended up doing neither. Yuuta knew to pick his battles carefully, and he certainly wasn't going to initiate some all-out tug-of-war between Mizuki-san and Aniki with himself in the starring role as the rope.

He had enough on his plate as it was to invite any more drama, complexities and what-ifs into his life.

But stretched out on his own bed in his own house, staring up at his own ceiling and replaying the day's bizarre events in his head, at least he could conclude one thing with absolute certainty: Aniki had totally lied about the raspberry pies.

"Yuuta, dinner!"

Well, speak of the devil and he shall—

"Yeah!" Yuuta shouted back unenthusiastically, not really looking forward to dinner. It was bothersome how it was bound to follow the same annoying pattern as always: in less than two minutes, Kaa-san, Nee-chan and Aniki would be launching an informal competition in who could make the most fuss before he stomped off to his room again. Not that Yuuta minded normal bouts of attention, but dinner with his house, where everyone was exceptional in some way, was just plain ridiculous. There would be no end to the excitement over absolutely everything he said and did; and between them, they would ask him a million stupid questions about St. Rudolph, tennis, his friends and never leaving him alone—

"Yuuta!"

The unnaturally cheery voice had drawn much closer, probably just outside the closed door to his room, and it was a realization that hardly brightened his mood.

"I heard you the first time," he growled. "Quit rushing me!"

"If you don't hurry up, the curry will get cold!" came a sing-song warning and the non-existent sound of retracting footsteps told him that Aniki would personally escort him to the dinner table. Oh joy.

Yuuta sighed and had to remind himself that he would give his right hand for that pumpkin curry.

But as he got up from his bed, his eyes fell on his tennis bag and a previously fully unprocessed thought hit him with the speed of Hyoutei's famous Scud Serve, prompting an immediate rummaging-around of the contents in search for _that_ racquet.

Then, with its worn, cold-coloured frame securely in his grasp, Yuuta recalled the tournament matches against Seigaku for the umpteenth time of the day. The sudden racquet change during Aniki and Mizuki-san's match, it didn't make any logical sense; there had been neither a practical need to change racquet nor any psychological advantage from doing so, because Aniki was way too confident in his abilities to be even remotely superstitious. So why had he done it?

And more puzzling still was the choice of racquet, if it had even been a premeditated pick; Yuuta didn't know.

Aniki's was one half of the pair of identical, golden racquets that their father had ordered from the US several years back, made especially for his tennis fanatics for sons.

_A golden racquet for the Golden Boy_.

Well, it had some poetic beauty to it, Yuuta supposed, even if the Golden Boy's brother also had received one. But whereas this particular racquet still was his personal favourite weapon of choice, Aniki hadn't used his since... Actually, Yuuta couldn't remember his brother ever using it in an official match before, so why now?

_Why did it have to be the golden racquet, Aniki?_

It really made no sense. Perhaps if he carefully brought up the subject at—

"Yuuta, you're even slower than usual! Saa...did Echizen really tire you that much?"

The voice had assumed a gently teasing tone and Yuuta's mood plummeted off the charts accordingly.

"I didn't tell you wait for me!" he barked, quickly shoving his tennis racquet back into the bag.

The he took a deep breath, counted to three, threw open his bedroom door and found himself staring straight into Aniki's closed, smiling eyes.

* * *

End Note: First off, some terms:

(1) _Bagel _= winning or losing a set 6-0.

(2) _Tanking_ = purposely sacrificing a game or set to refocus on the next.

These are the ones I'm used to, but it would be great to hear from you if you know of any others \(^.^)

Also, I plan on writing some more about the Fuji brothers' matching racquets in the future, so keep your eyes peeled, okay?


	9. Unexpected

Author's Note: After the Nationals there is someone Yuuta thinks he should thank. Tezuka's POV.

Disclaimer: _The Prince of Tennis_ doesn't belong to me.

* * *

**Unexpected**

#

Afterwards, even Sanada manages a gruff "_Congratulations, Seigaku_", in a very deliberate show of good sportsmanship, and Tezuka is forced to admit to himself that, _no_, he did not see that coming. (But neither did Inui, judging from the ominous glint in his rectangular glasses and the way he immediately corners Yanagi Renji.)

It hardly helps when a bemused-looking Yukimura confides, in a low voice and with a conspiratorial look on his face, that it is to set an example to the supposedly "impressionable" Kirihara; and only a lifetime of discipline and a deep appreciation of _boundaries_ prevent Tezuka from informing his naive counterpart that such a noble effort is totally, totally wasted. (Not only is the most impressionable thing about the Rikkai Dai youngster, whose extraordinary tantrums make Kikumaru look the very picture of good, responsible behaviour, the damage he seemed hell-bent on inflicting on Inui in their match earlier, but Tezuka discerns some disturbing parallels between Kirihara and Echizen that can only mean that Kirihara is highly unlikely to notice anything not in direct connection to tennis.)

But by then, Yukimura's smile has already reverted back to its usual, ambiguous self, and Tezuka is content with simply watching the other tennis captain disappear in the throng of people who have invaded the finals court _quite_ uninvited to mingle with the winning teams, while quietly contemplating the fact that even by his own team's impressive standards, Rikkai Dai was alarmingly bizarre.

"Uh, Tezuka-san?"

At the sound of his name, Tezuka turns around, slowly, wholly resigned to the possibility that whatever this is, he probably won't be expecting it. And he is not disappointed, because standing there – uneasily and lacking all of his brother's effortless grace – is Fuji Yuuta.

"Fuji-kun," he greets, perfectly politely, though perhaps a shade more standoffish than necessary. (But then, Fuji's much adored younger brother or not, the Southpaw Killer was competition until only recently, and Tezuka supposes that old habits really do die hard.)

But to his surprise, Fuji's younger brother breaks out in short, awkward laughter.

"I'm sorry," says Fuji junior at last. "But hardly anyone calls me that and I definitely didn't expect _you_ of all people to—_eh_..."

Tezuka has no siblings, neither older nor younger, and he still doesn't fully comprehend Fuji's tangled relationship with his nearest kin, but even he understood enough to be secretly relieved – _for all their sakes_ – when things finally came to a head and Fuji Yuuta upped and left to make a name for himself at St. Rudolph.

"I mean, I'm just..." the boy trails off, embarrassedly. "Yuuta is fine. Just Yuuta."

"Yuuta-kun," repeats Tezuka patiently, doubting very much that Yuuta knows just how much trouble he has caused Fuji (and Seigaku) over the years. "What can I do for you?"

"Uh..." Yuuta fidgets with the straps on his wristwatch. "Nice trophy you've got there. Congrats."

Tezuka waits.

Yuuta fidgets some more.

"Tezuka-san..." he begins. "Aniki says that you'll be going to Europe to train professionally after the summer."

Tezuka sighs inwardly. Trust Fuji to tell his brother everything. "Aa. Germany."

Yuuta nods but he doesn't say anything, and Tezuka dares to hope that this might be the end of a very strange conversation when Fuji's younger brother suddenly does something truly unexpected.

He dips into a deep bow, mumbling to Tezuka's shoes, "Thank you for always taking care of aniki."

Deeply conflicted (because Fuji is Fuji and takes care of himself), Tezuka doesn't know how to respond, but he is saved from saying anything by none other than Fuji himself.

"Yuuta, there you are! Nee-san is here and—" Fuji stops. "Tezuka?"

Tezuka is just about to acknowledge that it is, indeed, he; but then Yuuta, who has snapped to upright position and whipped around on his heels to face his brother with remarkable speed, exclaims indignantly, "Aniki! Don't creep up on me like that!"

Fuji smiles his closed-eye smile. "Ne, Yuuta, did I interrupt something important?"

"N-No! I was just—"

"Saa, what were the two of you talking about, then?"

"N-Nothing, okay?!"

"So defensive, Yuuta."

"Aniki!"

At this point, Tezuka is sorely tempted to have them both run laps around the stadium for being so... so _Fuji_, but Shiraishi suddenly waves at him from across the net and Tezuka isn't so stupid or inexperienced that he doesn't take the opportunity to quietly slip away.


	10. Best Man

Author's Note: Because Fuji is Fuji, even on a day like this.

Disclaimer: _The Prince of Tennis_ is not mine.

* * *

**Best Man**

#

The bride is beautiful in her white dress, rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes, and I have never seen my brother so happy – so _proud_ – as when he escorts her out of the church after promising her his forever.

There is a smile on his lips and laughter in his eyes when I finally manage to corner the happy couple at the reception. I kiss my sister-in-law's cheek and welcome her into the family – _our_ family – before I reach out to shake my brother's hand. I expect him to take it, but instead he looks at me and _frowns_. He pushes my hand aside, and I don't have the slightest idea of what I could possibly have done wrong.

Then he hugs me.

"Don't get used to it," he mutters in my ear. "Ann-chan made me."

"Getting married suits you," I say, grinning at the way his cheeks are heating up. "But better not make it a habit, ne?"

"Idiot!" grunts my brother, quickly stepping back to his bride's side, clearly offended at the thought. "Ann-chan is the only one for me!"

"Saa..." I wink at my sister-in-law. "You've really got this one wrapped around your little finger."

The bridegroom splutters incoherently. "Aniki!" he wails, and for a second I'm sure that he'll stomp his foot, too. "Don't say such embarrassing things! What kind of best man are you?"

"Don't worry." I pat his shoulder reassuringly. "Just wait for my speech later."

"Your s-speech?" Yuuta suddenly looks a bit green around the gills. "Aniki, honestly, you..."

I smile. My work here is done.


End file.
